


Bid My Blood

by larkingstock



Series: prompt nonsense [8]
Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Aftermath of sex pollen, F/M, Xibalba fuckery batshit, evanescence lyric fic title FUCK YEAH achievement unlocked, prompt, strike that off the bucket list
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 15:30:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16244540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkingstock/pseuds/larkingstock
Summary: Richie sets Kate free in Xibalba. Or maybe that's upside down.





	Bid My Blood

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: **sex pollen aftermath**
> 
> I always wanted more of their time in Xibalba. I did _not_ expect it to go like this, but hey, when the prompt calls...(Honestly I think my smutbrain just needed a bit of a blowout. These guys are great fun.) Fic title from Evanescence's [Bring Me To Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDklocLs8mU) because FUCK YEAH who is living their best life I AM \o/
> 
>  
> 
> The prompt nonsense series: the ongoing travails of one anon's quest to reacquire their errant writing mojo, with no guarantee of consistency, continuity, compliancy, or character appreciation.

Richie is floating. Richie is in pure cool darkness. Richie is in bliss.

Richie is in Hell.

Richie's eyes slam open, but the only searing brilliance that assaults him is the pulsing blaze of Kate Fuller's naked breasts. The plane of her pale skin leading to her neck, tipped long and back, cloud of crimson silk hair washing over his arm that's holding her slack body on his spent cock.

" _Kate_ ," he whispers, howls, _screams_ , before his Sight slaps him over the occipital lobe like a dumbass, _she's alive_. She's still alive.

Still alive and slithering violently deep down inside the self-contained limpness of her form, twisting, whorls of blood and Hell and dark goddess and human girl and lost faith and white-hot, _white-hot_ filigree of Grace, soul-pure sugar-curls in water, and pulsing brighter every moment. Richie has taken everything-- _everything_ \--that hate and fire and madness and bullets and fangs and the earth's sun and this inferno dimension has thrown at him, and he has no idea what the touch of that devouring true flame will do to the culebra within. Much less what it'll do his own unrepentantly black soul. All he knows is Kate needs him to hold her outsides intact, close and safe as the war rages through her insides.

So he wraps both arms around her slender back and holds the girl as close and as safe as possible.

_On your cock_ , hisses his occipital lobe, smug and thirsting. Coiling through the top of his spine all the way down, and the blood-greedy stiffness of his flesh swelling once more inside hers has nothing to do, this time, with the unholy Trap he found her in. Freed her in. Fucked her in.

Her neck is so vulnerable, and he groans, nosing, squeezing her tighter to him, all her sweet, sweet skin to his like benediction after the burn of sun and grit in the desert, in Hell, as he kneels in supplication most fervent. As he drinks in her scent, blood and Hell and dark goddess and human girl and lost faith and white-hot Grace and _HOME_ , as his knees spread wider, a stable base of three points with which to hold her strong and steady and thrust his pelvis into hers in pure need.

Kate's legs clamp around him, a harsh gasp, and the Grace explodes like supernova, like orgasm, whips of fire flaying him alive, tearing him asunder, splitting every cell, smashing every atom.

And Richie takes it.

Richie is screaming. Richie is in pure white-hot agony. Richie is in...bliss.

Richie is balls-deep in Kate Fuller's deflowered cunt, and her eyes are opening, the color of ungiving stone and wet spring mist, coolly amused to take in every inch of the cinder-soot of his skin.

In one lithe move she's dismounting off the smouldering wreck she's made of him, and while most of him--let's say a cool 90%--simply can't take his eyes off her standing over him, back from the dead a second time, sex-glowing and naked and probably, technically, depending on how long she's been here in this dimension's screwy space-time tides, still underage jailbait, there is also that small part of him that just really fucking doesn't want to look down and see the state of his dick. Some things, a man shouldn't have to endure.

"Well, that was fun," comes Kate's cutting voice from her innocent kiss-shaped lips, "but we have a Hell Gate to close."

Richie would love to. Small problem: Richie can't move. Can't talk. Might _actually_ be a lump of charcoal physically fused to the ground. Which is plinking around them like cooling lava. He wonders, briefly, what the fuck it is with him working with apparently every fucker on the planet who can't see the blindingly obvious flaws in their plans. He must just be charitable that way, he guesses.

All he's got is two functioning eyes, which he rolls at her, and her laugh tinkles over him. She leans down and takes two fingerfuls of soot from his face, giving him a flirty little wink and refreshing the dark smears of her eye makeup that got lost somewhere along the way in their Hell-Trap induced fuckfest. Then she holds that same smudged hand out to him, with a look that is nothing more than simple expectation that, if she reaches for him, he will take it.

So somehow, he cracks his arm loose and does, screaming white-hot agony, charred fingers curling into her cool slim grasp and Richie _moans_.

Kate smiles, and then she bends down and presses those smiling lips to his, softly, it's slipping into him, down his throat, clean clear sparkling sinking deep into  every split and crevasse, all through him and it's _her_ , her pulse, her essence he takes and takes and takes takes _takes_ in, panting, _groaning_ , and when she whispers, "Up and at 'em, lover," and draws back and pulls, he comes to his feet, knitted into flesh blood bone monster once more.

For a moment he simply stands there staring down at her, looking back at him, whole and alive and impossibly beautiful, and all he wants to do is take her mouth again, get back to what they were doing. But she just smirks at him and tosses that wild cherry-flame hair over her shoulder and turns, starts climbing out of the smoking crater of the Trap she has fucking _obliterated_ , knowing he'll follow.

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Now has a slow-to-update expansion fic I'm writing [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17428844).


End file.
